


from the ground up (we'll start anew)

by matskreider



Series: guys my age [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (he's completely fine in the rest of the fic; no one dies in here), (lightly though; more like juuse calling pekka daddy which is canon in real life so....), Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Character Death In Dream, Daddy Kink, M/M, Sexual Tension, Vampire/Human Relationship, doesn't really play all that big of a role, the omc is just to fill a need for a character in one scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 02:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11118111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matskreider/pseuds/matskreider
Summary: He’d never smelled anything quite as enigmatic as Juuse. His scent alternated between something sweet, that made Pekka think of summer and cocktails and hot pinks and yellows, and then something a little bit darker, more masculine. Kinda like the “midsummer night” candle at Yankee Candle.Secondly, Juuse was very physically affectionate. The six (seven? eight?) inch height difference between them was even more apparent when Juuse was standing right in front of him. Six inches and 13 years had never before seemed so vast to Pekka, but with Juuse, everything was more intense. There was no escape.Because, thirdly, Juuse was living in Pekka’s house.(pekka's a 300 year old vampire. juuse's a 22 year old human. they're living together. and they want each other.)





	from the ground up (we'll start anew)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elenajames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/gifts).



> unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. this blossomed out of a conversation with marce over on tumblr that started with me needing vampire pekka struggling to deal with a very sweet and very physical juuse living in his house and being his backup. that then turned into a million and one ideas for one-shots, but in order to do those, i needed to tell the story of how they got together and what exactly pekka is. hence, this piece.
> 
> i hope you like it!

Finland was a different place than America. That much stood for itself, but the fact of the matter was that vampirism was, in fact, a strictly European thing. It had originated there, though no one really knew why or how. The tale of Dracula only offered so much by way of real facts about the creation of vampires.

When the colonists came over, part of it was because of seeking freedom from religious persecution and trying to get some real money from new business ventures, yes, but some of it was trying to escape vampirism. America was a nation founded on fear and bitterness, mixed in with the attempt of self-righteous exploration and manifest destiny. Pekka could feel that in the very soil.

American vampires were also much more different than their European counterparts. There was more secrecy here, but no organized, separate society. They’d sought integration rather than separation. The ancient ways had been left across the Atlantic, back where they’d started. (And even then, they’d only lasted until the European Industrial Revolution. After that, they’d begun to go out of fashion as well.) Vampirism in the Americas had only really begun during the Revolutionary War, and that was a bit of a fluke.

Hadn’t stopped it from catching on though.

When Pekka first came to the States, he wasn’t sure what he expected. Intense oversight from management’s side? No personal freedom? Blood given to him from blood banks, ignoring the fact that that took precious resources from those in need? It was a combination of things he’d heard from other Finns who played with Americans, but it didn’t seem to apply in Nashville.

He’d just filled out some paperwork, was told the usual speech about how to properly represent your team and basically how _not_ to be an idiot, and then was left to his own devices. Deliberate negligence, if Pekka had ever seen it.

So over the past 13 years, he’d made his way as best he could. Networked with other vampires, bought a house, built up his playing career - he did everything he came to America to do. Not bad for a 300 year old.

And then he’d heard about the new goaltender that Nashville had drafted, the one currently doing time in the AHL to get his skates under him properly. Another Finn, superficially 13 years Pekka’s younger, and quite honestly, pretty good.

Pekka wasn’t worried for his own tenure in the slightest. Unlike the other players, this wasn’t his first job, nor would it be the last. Jealousy wasn’t the point here, especially when he’d learned, through interviews and such, that Juuse actually idolized him. Had watched him play, even back in Finland. Playing back up to Pekka was probably a dream come true for the kid. He wasn’t going to be a diva and get unduly upset about it. It was kind of charming, actually.

But when he was in close quarters with Juuse for the first time, he began to doubt his self control in other ways.

For starters, he’d never smelled anything quite as enigmatic as Juuse. His scent alternated between something sweet, that made Pekka think of summer and cocktails and hot pinks and yellows, and then something a little bit darker, more masculine. Kinda like the “midsummer night” candle at Yankee Candle.

Secondly, Juuse was _very_ physically affectionate. The six (seven? eight?) inch height difference between them was even more apparent when Juuse was standing right in front of him. Six inches and 13 years had never before seemed so vast to Pekka, but with Juuse, everything was more intense. There was no escape.

Because, thirdly, Juuse was living in Pekka’s house.

300 years old, and Pekka was still doubting his decision making abilities.

He’d moved in, bit by bit, over the course of several months. At first, it was just the essentials - clothing, toiletries, etc. - but then it turned into the “essentials” - game consoles, junk food, etc. And with every piece of Juuse that came into Pekka’s house, with every hour spent in his company, with every look and sigh and touch that lingered too long, Pekka fell just a little bit more for Juuse.

Which was, in the understatement of the millenia, a colossally _bad_ idea.

If not for all of the previously mentioned reasons, then for the fact that Juuse was _Finnish._ He came from the same “vampires are an open secret” culture that Pekka did. Sooner or later, Juuse would put it together that Pekka wasn’t entirely human. It was only a matter of time.

There weren’t any other vampires on the team, and Pekka hadn’t confided in any of the players either. Besides, it wasn’t like there were any Twilight level giveaways to being a vampire. Slightly cooler body temperature, sure, but hockey was a winter sport and they’re on ice most of the time anyway. Heightened senses, which leads to overstimulation, but all Pekka had to do was chalk his dislike of too high spices to a) being European and b) being a goalie superstition. (And stronger senses helped with doing his job, but not enough to be considered cheating.)

There was no sparkling, nor bursting into flames, in the sun. And his fangs just seemed like regular sharp canines unless he was hungry or felt threatened in any way. Which, save for forwards rushing him in his crease, rarely happened. (And even then, it was fun to watch their wide-eyed panic when he hissed at them. Thousands of years of evolution screaming at them to get away from the 6’5” agitated predator, and they couldn’t figure out why. Truly delightful.)

But even with all of that, he could hide from Americans and Canadians, since they didn’t seem to have the same level of open secrecy about vampires. (Maybe the two Swiss could be counted in that as well. They weren’t particularly observant to begin with. And thank God they only had one Russian.) The other Scandinavians were the issue.

And he had one living in his house.

Surely by now, Juuse had picked up on some of the signs. It was all there if he was looking for it: being slightly more nocturnal than diurnal, favoring sunglasses even when he wasn’t hungover, the crankiness that came from not eating for too long, being out past curfew (especially on the road). The one thing that could be the saving grace was that Pekka actually did enjoy cooking. He couldn’t eat any of what he made - he was physically able to, but it tasted awful despite how good it smelled and he’d eventually just throw it back up - but he still cooked. Home cooked meals were rare to come by for rookies anyway, and the least Pekka could do was try to assuage some of the homesickness that inevitably came around.

And when Juuse would ask if he wanted to share a meal with him, he’d either have to make up an excuse - “Oh, I already ate.” - or resign himself to eating even when he knew what would happen if he did.

But Juuse didn’t seem to be any wiser, and Pekka was able to keep his secret. For a over a year, in fact. Then Juuse was officially named Pekka’s backup, and lived full time with Pekka. And between the secret crush and crushing secret Pekka was harboring, it was only a matter of time until something gave.

* * *

Wins are causes for celebration. Wins brought to you by your baby goalie are even more so. Wins brought to you by your baby goalie in his first start of the season are even _more_ so.

So the entire team had crammed themselves into three booths at a bar, bringing round after round in celebration of Juuse’s first win. Pekka’s been nursing a pint of Guinness the whole night, taking as small sips as possible, and dumping some more into his teammate’s glasses when he has the chance to.

He watches Juuse, flushed and happy, leaning against his teammates in the booth. He’s grinning as he accepts the congratulations, talking enthusiastically at the rookie’s booth next to Pekka’s. Every once in awhile, over the din of the bar, he can hear Finnish, his mind latching onto what’s familiar even in a place he’d known for more than a decade. Nealer, more than a little bit buzzed at that point, leans against Pekka’s shoulder, patting his back a little harder than necessary.

“Lookin’ after your boy?” Nealer asks, raising a brow. Pekka realizes he had been staring a bit too long than was normal, but it looked like Nealer was the only one who had noticed.

Pekka turns to look at him, smiling a closed mouth smile. “It’s his first win, he’s allowed to get sloshed. Doesn’t mean he has to get home by himself.”

James barks a laugh. “ _Sloshed?_ Pekks, you’ve been hanging with the kids for too long. Or the Americans.” He frowns, then shrugs. “There really isn’t a big difference, is there?” After depositing that bit of wisdom, he takes another sip of his beer and straightens himself back up, moving out of Pekka’s space.

Pekka gives a small chuckle at that, but turns his attention back to Juuse. It’s not exactly a high end bar, known moreso for quantity of drink rather than quality, but it means the alcohol’s cheaper and doesn’t exactly smell like gasoline. It means Pekka can stay out with the team for a little bit longer than usual, but he sees Juuse leaning into Miikka like he’s about to pass out, and he knows he should probably call it a night.

He gets up from the booth, barely halting the conversations that had been going on around him. He does stop to flick Josi on the ear though.

At Josi’s disgruntled glare, Pekka points to James. “Just make sure he gets back okay.”

He knows he will, but it doesn’t hurt to remind that even in the face of celebration, they still need to pull their shit together. Josi nods, and Pekka turns now to collect his other charge.

Juuse lights up when he sees Pekka, and not for the first time, Pekka’s reminded of the phrase “heart eyes.”

“Pekka!” The enthusiasm isn’t dulled by the alcohol swimming around in his system, though the clarity of his words is. “What’s...what’s up?”

“We’re going home before you pass out at on the table,” Pekka responds, but he doesn’t make a move to touch Juuse. It may be late October, but it’s late October in Nashville, TN. It’s not really cold yet, and drinking usually makes people warmer, not colder. There’d be little to no explanation for the temperature of his skin.

Juuse frowns a bit, but Sissions nudges him under the table. “Go on, man, go home with your daddy.”

That makes Juuse smirk, and he stands, stumbling only a little bit. Pekka’s forced to steady him, and tries to hold his breath when Juuse leans into his arms. “You’re just jealous,” Juuse shoots back, before giving a mock salute to the table.

He turns to go, and Pekka follows, barely refraining from keeping a hand on the small of Juuse’s back as he calls an Uber. They step out into the night air, still warm enough to not really warrant the leather jacket Pekka has on. Juuse gives him a bit of a side-eye and pokes the sleeve of his jacket. “You cold?”

Pekka shrugs a little bit. “Poor circulation. Kind of a curse in the winter, but now it’s not so bad.”

Juuse goes along with it, nodding slightly to himself.

The ride back home is pretty calm. Juuse starts by the window seat, Pekka in the other one, but somehow gets it in his head that lying down is a good idea, and winds up wiggling out of his seat belt to put his head in Pekka’s lap. Pekka sits there, frozen for a second, but Juuse seems content where he is, and who is Pekka to deny him that?

Against his better judgement, he slips a hand into Juuse’s hair, gently playing with it. Juuse hums softly, and Pekka hopes the Uber driver doesn’t misconstrue what’s happening in her backseat. Judging by the glare in the rearview mirror, that’s exactly what’s happening.

Pekka makes sure to tip her extra when they get out, and he gently steers Juuse into the house. He directs him to go upstairs, and grabs him a bottle of water from the fridge. By the time he gets to Juuse’s room, he’s already sitting on the bed, pants off, shirt off his body but still stuck on his arms.

Pekka puts the bottle on the night stand. “Drink that before you go to bed. It’s not going to prevent your hangover, but it’ll help.”

Juuse, finally having figured out how to take a shirt off, crawls up his bed and takes the water bottle. He makes direct eye contact with Pekka as he cracks the seal and murmurs, “Thank you, Daddy.”

Pekka’s useless heart seizes for a second. “Y-you’re welcome.” With what shreds of dignity he has left, he turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

Juuse was going to be the second death of him.

* * *

As expected, in the morning, Juuse remembers very little of what happened last night. He comes downstairs just as Pekka’s finishing up making brunch, loading one plate and some silverware into the dishwasher for appearance’s sakes. Juuse comes up behind Pekka and leans against him, his cheek between his shoulder blades.

He feels warm, not from alcohol, but just from sleep and his natural body temperature. Pekka lets him have the moment, before turning around slightly so Juuse’s options are either to stand up completely or leave his face in Pekka’s chest.

Juuse chooses to straighten up, but doesn’t back away any. Pekka looks down, takes in his bed head and the pillow scars across his arms and face, and has to resist cupping his cheek.

“My head feels like I was blocking shots with it all night,” Juuse whines, wrapping his arms around himself. “Do we have Tylenol?”

“Good morning to you too. And we do, I’m just not sure you can reach it,” Pekka teases, giving himself an out. Juuse rolls his eyes, then winces when the action only makes his headache worse. “Go eat, I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks,” Juuse replies, and Pekka catches himself waiting to see if Juuse continues, if he says it again, but he doesn’t. Pekka’s not sure what to do with the disappointment he feels.

When he comes back into the kitchen, two white pills in his hand, Juuse’s halfway through his plate of brunch, checking through his phone. When Pekka comes over, Juuse puts his phone screen-side down on the table, and takes the pills from his mentor.

Pekka almost wants to know what he was looking at that caused him to take such measures - they were pretty open with each other (as much as they could be) - but he figured it was none of his business. Every 20-something year old had their secrets.

So he lets it slide. Besides, it’s not like there’s any urgency.

They don’t have another game for four days, and it’s in California. They’ve got some time to kill. So Pekka goes upstairs to get dressed for the day and maybe see if he could entice Juuse to come out for a hike with him. (The chances were slim, but he thought he’d at least offer.)

Pekka’s proven right when he comes back downstairs and sees Juuse stretched out on the couch, the TV on, under several blankets. There’s no way he’s moving from that spot.

“I’m going out for a little bit, do you need anything?”  
  
“Yeah, could you turn the heat up a bit? It’s freezing in here,” comes the answer from the blanket pile.

Pekka hadn’t noticed anything overly out of place from the temperature of the house, but then again, it’s tailored to his own needs. He’d have to get used to running a warmer house, now that Juuse’s staying long term.

He adjusts it, and when Juuse hears the AC turn down, Pekka can see him relax. With that, he turns and leaves the house.

* * *

When Pekka comes back, he’s taken the edge off his hunger long enough to last until California, gone hiking, and picked up some more food for dinner that night. Juuse’s not in the same spot he was in before, which was surprising, since he was only gone for around three, maybe four hours.

He goes into the kitchen to put away the groceries, but as he crosses in front of the stairs, he catches Juuse’s conversation. It’s not on purpose, nor is it eavesdropping, he tells himself as he briefly detours halfway up the stairs to get a clearer shot listening.

Juuse’s talking on the phone to someone, maybe his mom? It’s in Finnish, not English, and he doesn’t seem agitated, just...uncertain. He’s quiet now, listening to the person on the other end of the phone speak, and then he starts talking again.

“I know that, I know that, but...I mean, just because he doesn’t fit all the stereotypes doesn’t mean it can’t be true, right?”

More silence, and then - “Well yeah, but he’s been in America for over a decade, Mom. It’s not the same over here.”

Pekka freezes, abruptly caught between going back downstairs and trying not to listen in, or listening to the part of him telling him to go in there, and demand to know how much Juuse’s put together. If not for his own safety, than for Juuse’s.

“Mom... _Mom._ I’m fine, he hasn’t...no, Mom. Garlic doesn’t work. How...because he’s cooked with it before, Mom.”

Pekka has to stifle a snicker at that. Garlic wasn’t poisonous to vampires, like the legends said; it was just too strong of a scent, which led to overstimulation. Pekka’d learned how to deal with it from years of exposure and teaching himself how to be around humans to blend in. It was a fairly recent development, but he thought he’d done well enough.

“Look, I just wanted to call, see if you could tell me if  I was just...I don’t know, making this up or something. But I really think he is one. I don’t...no, I’m not in danger, I just...I’m pretty sure Pekka’s a vampire.”

Well. Shit.

He shifts his weight back to go back down the stairs, but, of course, steps on the one part of the stairs that creaks every time he so much as thinks of going down there. He hears Juuse freeze in his room, and then, “Mom, I’m gonna have to call you back. I think he’s home.”

Pekka panics for about two seconds before all but sprinting into the kitchen and putting the groceries away. He hears the door to Juuse’s room open, footsteps down the stairs, and then he’s there, coming around the corner.

Pekka gives him a close mouthed smile, which Juuse returns. He’s nervous, Pekka can sense that, and he turns to hand him a package of gnocchi. “Can you put the water on for that?” he asks, and Juuse takes it, nodding his assent.

He doesn’t shy away from Pekka’s physical presence, the two of them more than used to moving around each other in the kitchen - aka, Pekka cooking and Juuse being underfoot but wanting and willing to help. Dinner’s done and put together in relative short order, and Pekka lets Juuse help himself.

“You aren’t going to have any?” Juuse asks, and Pekka shakes his head.

“I already-”

“Already ate. Got it.” Juuse doesn’t seem dismayed, more so like he’s trying to appear unfazed, or almost guilting Pekka into eating with him.

Pekka bites his lower lip, before nodding again at Juuse’s words. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m gonna go get out of these, enjoy dinner, yeah?”

He turns and leaves before Juuse can answer. He tries not to think about how Juuse was looking at his mouth before he left.

* * *

The next few weeks pass by without much incident. Pekka doesn’t overhear any other phone calls from Juuse to anyone, really, but he’s not sure if that’s because Juuse has gotten better at choosing where to have them or if they’ve stopped entirely. The team hasn’t been doing that great either. They’re 10-7-3 by the time Juuse starts again. The Jets get one past him, but they manage to lose 3-0 with two empty netters at the end of the third.

It sucks, but it’s not Juuse’s fault. They’re on a road trip, hitting the Jets and the Avs, so not only does no one really feel like partying, but the usual places to go and have some drinks as a testament to sadness are over a thousand miles away.

After his shower, he comes over to where Juuse’s sitting in his stall - showered, but not dressed yet. He puts a gentle hand on Juuse’s shoulder, hoping the warm water from the shower disguises the bit of chill he always has with him.

“Room 237,” is all he says, but he knows Juuse understands.

Later that night, after everyone’s returned to the hotel to make phone calls back home or just to go to sleep and try to forget the game, there’s a knock on Pekka’s door. Juuse stands on the other side, in sweatpants and a white t-shirt, and he looks up at Pekka with the saddest, tiredest expression Pekka had seen on the kid’s face.

He steps aside to allow Juuse to enter. The rookie does, but once the door’s closed, he presses up against Pekka, hiding his face in his chest. On instinct, Pekka wraps his arms around the smaller man, gently rubbing his back. He’s tense, whether from nerves or disappointment, Pekka’s not sure. But he feels so warm and pliant in Pekka’s arms, and he doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.

He slides one hand up into Juuse’s hair and plays with it, like he had in the Uber weeks prior. Juuse relaxes, incrementally, and soon the young netminder’s hands settle on Pekka’s hips.

“What did you call me in for?” Juuse whispers, his words muffled against Pekka’s chest.

“To make sure you knew it wasn’t your fault,” Pekka replies, his voice just as low.

Juuse blinks up at him, his blue eyes wide and oh so trusting. “But-”

“Juuse. You only let in one goal. The other two were empty net, and it’s not like goalies are asked to make shots. That was on everyone else.”

“Everyone’s just...I can feel it, you know? In the air, everyone’s disappointed. I just assumed…”

“That they were disappointed in you?” Pekka gently finishes. “No, Juuse. This one wasn’t on you.”

Juuse nods, but presses back in close to Pekka anyway. The vampire sighs softly, and tightens his grip. They stand there like that, against the wall beside the door, for a few more minutes. Eventually, Pekka nudges Juuse.

“Where’s your room?” Pekka asks softly, and Juuse points up.

“Two floors up,” he says through a yawn.

Fuck that. “You can stay here, if you want. It is kinda late,” Pekka offers.

Juuse seems to be caught debating whether or not to stay, but another yawn makes his decision for him. “Okay.” He turns and walks into the room and flops down on the left side of the bed, closer to the window. Pekka follows, slightly dumbstruck by how easily Juuse had gone with it - he hadn’t even raised the issue of there only being one bed.

Pekka gets in, and in no time at all, Juuse’s pressed up against him. Before Pekka can say anything, Juuse murmurs a sleepy, “Goodnight, Daddy.”

Pekka doesn’t fall asleep for a few hours after that.

* * *

_There’s sweetness everywhere, soaked into the sheets and the air around him. He feels a bone deep satisfaction, and he licks his fangs clean of the sweet blood covering them. He can feel some stickiness on the sheets, something warm and solid. He can hear a racing heartbeat and panting breaths, and finally,_ **_finally_ ** _his vision comes to him._

_He’s not wearing any clothes, and he sees a mop of dark hair beneath him, the person’s face obscured in their folded arms. There’s a fresh bite mark on their neck, still ringed with red. Pekka leans down and licks at it, cleaning the blood from the area and coaxing the bite to close. The person beneath him giggles a little at the touch, and they turn their head, looking at him out of the corner of their eye._

_“That was great, Daddy,” Juuse purrs, rocking his bare hips back against Pekka’s. “Think we could do it again sometime?”_

_Pekka noses his way down Juuse’s throat, encouraging him to roll over, and bare more of his throat. “Hmmm, I don’t think so.”_

_Juuse’s brows furrow as he settles on his back, his hands up on the pillows. Pekka grabs his wrists and holds them down, none too gently, and Juuse winces a bit at the roughness. “Why not?”_

_“Because this was a one time deal,” Pekka answers, brushing his lips against Juuse’s throat. “But don’t worry. It won’t hurt.”_

_“...what wo-”_

_Juuse screams, briefly, as Pekka bites into his jugular, intending to kill. Pekka pulls back after a few seconds, his mouth and nose covered in sweet, sweet blood. “Sorry love,” he whispers to the fading light in Juuse’s eyes. “I’m afraid I’m rather selfish at heart.”_

_Pekka leans back down to finish the job, a deep growl tearing from his throat._

* * *

Pekka wakes up once his body hits the floor. The sheets are wrapped around his waist, and he does his best to untangle them while dragging himself to the wall. He takes steady breaths, trying to calm himself down.

He’s in the hotel room in Winnipeg. He hasn’t snapped like that in almost two centuries. He doesn’t have blood on him, his face is clean, but why does he smell so much like Juuse?

Pekka stumbles to his feet, his hand splayed on the mirrored closet doors as he looks over at the bed. Juuse’s sitting up, looking at him with no small amount of concern and...the slightest bit of fear. Neither of them say anything for a few moments, before Pekka clears his throat.

“Bad dream,” he croaks, voice still thick with sleep. When he speaks, he feels that his fangs had, in fact, elongated. Due to the dream or to being so close to Juuse, he doesn’t know. But he doesn’t taste or smell fresh blood, so that’s better news than he had hoped for.

“...Wanna talk about it?” Juuse asks in a small voice.

Pekka thinks back to what had woken him up, and shudders at the thought. “Not really, Juuse. I’m just…” He grabs his phone off the nightstand and leaves, walking into the hallway of the hotel. He scrubs his hands down his face as he walks on autopilot to the elevator; then he thinks better of it, and reroutes to the stairs. When he gets to the lobby, he pulls his phone out and goes to his contacts.

It’s one hour behind for his ideal caller, but he doesn’t really give much of a shit. Not right now.

“This better be good.” Lundqvist’s normally poised and reserved voice snaps across the line with irritation.

“I need some help,” Pekka replies, his voice a little bit shaken. “I don’t...practical advice, maybe? Or maybe another reason, I dunno.”

Hank wakes up a bit more at that. “Pekka, what happened?”

“I had a dream after sharing a bed with...my backup.” Though he’s speaking Finnish, knowing that Henrik could understand him just fine, he hesitates to use Juuse’s actual name, just in case anyone in this deserted lobby’s night staff happened to overhear what he saying.

“You fucked a twenty year old?”

“ _No,_ Hank. He got another start this game, he...it was a shit game, I’m sure you’ll see it on the news eventually, but...anyway, he was taking it hard even though it really wasn’t his fault. The offence just didn’t show up this game.”

“I know the feeling.”

Pekka smiles at the tone of voice. “I’m sure you do. But anyway I invited him up to make sure that he’s okay, you know? And he wound up staying the night, and then I dreamt that I...well that I slept with him and then I…”

Hank is patiently quiet on the other side of the line, allowing Pekka to get his thoughts together.

“...Hank, I tore his throat out.”

“...Pekka what are you saying?”

“ _I killed him, Hank._ In my dream, and then I-I woke up, and it was...I was on the floor, he wasn’t hurt but my fangs were out and...I didn’t do anything but...Hank what do I do?”

Hank takes a deep breath. “Okay. He’s not hurt, so we’ve got that covered. And don’t tell me I have to be the person to tell you that it’s okay to not be straight. Sexuality, despite what suburban moms might say, was not invented in 1970.”

“I know that,” Pekka mutters. “I’m not having some big gay panic.”

“But you’re having some kind of panic.”

“Henrik-”

“I am listening, but Pekka you need to understand. A), he’s perfectly legal. B), he’s not dead. C), if you want to act on that, there really isn’t any reason not to. I’m _not_ talking about the killing part. I think it was fucking stupid of you two to share a bed - does he even have any idea what you are?”

“...I think so.”

“What do you mean, you _think_ so?”

Pekka rolls his eyes and switches his phone to his other ear. “I overheard him talking to his mom, he said that he suspected me being a vampire, but he doesn’t know if my time in America has ‘changed me’ or whatever,” Pekka replies.

“The only thing America could have done to you is make you more careful about who you share the truth with. If you think Juuse is someone that you can trust, then tell him. Besides, he already has a hypothesis. But right now, you need to stop thinking of yourself, okay? You have a scared 22 year old upstairs in your room and you need to get that settled first things first. And let me get back to sleep,” Henrik says, and Pekka closes his eyes as he listens.

“...Thank you.”

“Of course. But next time, try to call at a time that’s _not_ 2am, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll just…”

“Go tell him what happened. Have an adult conversation.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Since I’ve had to be an entire hockey team from the crease,” Hank answers. His tiredness transcends just a normal midnight conversation, and Pekka knows when to let it go.

“Okay, okay. Night, Hank.”

“Night, Pekka.”

The call clicks off and Pekka goes back up to his room. He swipes in and finds the bed empty, the sheets still strewn on the floor, and a note on the hotel’s stationary that only says “I’m sorry.”

* * *

Pekka gets the start against Colorado and the boys come together for him, earning them a win. They return to Nashville, riding the high off of a win, and return home to enjoy the four days before their next game. Pekka expected to run into Juuse after that, but he didn’t.

Juuse didn’t come home with him from the airport. He’d gone to Miikka’s.

Pekka supposed he couldn’t blame him, not at all. But with each day without having Juuse near him - Juuse _home_ with him - he got increasingly anxious. Bit by bit, thoughts of Juuse talking about what had happened with someone else, or Juuse growing to genuinely be afraid of Pekka kept the vampire up all hours of the night.

It’s not until practice that Friday that Juuse even so much as speaks to Pekka again.

“Is it okay if I come over? I need more clothes.”

It’s not the ideal beginning, but Pekka can recognize an olive branch when there’s one extended. “Yeah, of course.”

Juuse nods. “Cool, I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” He then turns and takes his leave, leaving Pekka slightly bewildered before he grabs his stuff and moves to follow.

Juuse’s leaning against his car when he gets out there, and Pekka unlocks it when he gets close enough. He’s not quite sure where they stand, so he doesn’t say anything, but Juuse does choose to sit in the passenger seat, which was an improvement over what Pekka had assumed.

The drive back to his house is silent, save for the radio and the sound of Juuse typing away on his phone. When they pull up, Pekka puts the car in park, and goes to leave, but Juuse locks the door from his side of the car. He knows it’s more for show than anything - obviously he could unlock the door if he wanted to - but if Juuse wanted to have a conversation, apparently this was how they were doing it.

“Can I ask you something? And you promise to answer me honestly?” Juuse asks. His voice doesn’t waver, though his hands fidget with his phone, rubbing along the smooth sides of it to try and center himself.

“Sure.” Pekka’s under no illusions what this question could be. There were at least five different ways this conversation could go.

“What the hell happened in Winnipeg?” Juuse lifts his chin a bit, and Pekka has to avert his gaze briefly. Without the air running in the car, Juuse’s scent was starting to fill the space, and Pekka didn’t know where to focus.

“I told you, I had a bad dream.”

“Pekka, you threw yourself from the bed. You wouldn’t look at me, you...was it me? If you wanted me to go you just could have asked.”

“No! No, I...I mean, it kind of was because of you? But not your fault, I just...I had a dream about you. You and me. It...it wasn’t….was more of a nightmare, really.”

Pekka watches as Juuse recoils into his seat, brows furrowed. “Damn. Don’t pull any punches, do you. Rest assured, I can find my own place to stay. I’ll be out of your hair sooner rather than later.”

And Pekka knows that he should say yes. That he should encourage this, and let Juuse take himself to live with someone else, someone human, who wouldn’t put so much danger into his life.

But then again, like his dream self had said, he _was_ selfish. He wanted Juuse with him. It had been over a year, he couldn’t imagine living without Juuse and all of his random shit lying around the house, his scent everywhere, his clothes mixing with Pekka’s in the laundry. Juuse had become a part of his life at this point.

“...I’d like it if you stayed,” he finally says softly. “I’m sorry for the way I acted, it wasn’t fair to you. I just had a bit of a personal thing come up and it...it kind of took me by surprise. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then why’d you run away?” Juuse asks, his voice just as soft as Pekka’s.

“Because I was afraid I’d hurt you. And I didn’t want that to happen. I just didn’t see that I’d hurt you by running away,” he explains. He reaches across the cab of the car, brushing his hand against Juuse’s. It’s a bold move, for several reasons, but Juuse doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his hand up so Pekka’s fingers are tracing the lines across his palm, his heart and head lines.

Pekka looks down at the intersecting lines, recalling when palmistry had first become relevant. He didn’t put much stock in it, but he wasn’t surprised to see Juuse’s heart line long and sweeping up.

“If you don’t want to hurt me anymore, you need to be honest with me,” Juuse whispers, watching Pekka’s fingers on his skin. “And I’ll do the same with you.”

“Okay,” Pekka whispers back, looking up and meeting Juuse’s gaze. He hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten, until Juuse leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to his lips. Pekka froze, just long enough for Juuse to begin to pull away. But he got his senses about him and chased the boy’s mouth, encouraging him to keep at it.

Juuse pulls back after a brief moment, separating with a soft wet noise. Pekka opens his eyes just enough to look up at Juuse through his lashes. His heart’s racing, Pekka can hear that much, and the cab smells so strongly of him that it’s almost dizzying at this point.

Juuse closes his hand over Pekka’s fingers as he leans back in for another kiss, and another, and another. Little chaste kisses without any tongue, a blush spreading across Juuse’s cheeks. Pekka could feel the warmth, smell the sweet blood rushing to the surface, and his mouth opens slightly in response. Juuse pauses, pulling back just enough to look at Pekka.

“We should probably go inside,” Pekka murmurs, meeting Juuse’s gaze. He looks relaxed, almost like he’s drunk again, warm and soft against Pekka’s skin. “Get you some clothes for Miikka’s.”

“I’m not going back to Miikka’s. I want to stay with you.” Juuse reaches up to cup Pekka’s cheek, and Pekka can’t help but lean into it a bit.

“We still need to get out though.”

“I’ll say, you’re freezing.”

Pekka watches as Juuse maintains eye contact, a hint of a challenge in his words. “If there’s a question in there,” Pekka says slowly. “You need to ask it outright.”

“You promise you’ll be honest?” Juuse counters.

“Yes.”

“You’re a _verenimij_ _ä_ , aren’t you?”

Pekka recoils slightly at the word choice. “ _Vampyyri._ Please.” Though technically “bloodsucker” was accurate, it was only becoming more acceptable now, to be repurposed and reclaimed into something positive. Pekka remembered back when it was something to be feared, a mark of someone who wouldn’t hesitate to try and kill if provoked. (And sometimes, without provocation.) “Vampire” was the cleanest one, and easier to translate to other languages.

And it didn’t have the weight that “bloodsucker” did.

Juuse drops his gaze. “Sorry, it’s just...I thought, that I knew? Like, I suspected? But it’s different to hear it confirmed…”

Pekka sighs and moves to get out of the car. “We can have this discussion inside.”

Finally, Juuse gives in, and leaves the car. Once they’re inside the house, however, Juuse just looks at him expectantly.

“...What you just want my life story?”

“Well a little bit on how you became a vampire and managed to have a successful career in America would be a good start, yes.”

Pekka huffs and hangs his coat up, toeing his shoes off at the same time. “Fine. I’m about 300 years old, I think. I was turned when I was 32, I’ve looked the same ever since. I don’t know who changed me, I never changed any of my original family. As for coming over here, they just kinda...they follow the code of deliberate negligence. They don’t really care what I do, as long as I perform. But management knows. Coaches don’t though.”

Juuse leans against the counter, his fingers drumming on the marble. “So...does anyone else know?”

“No one but you and me. And your mother, apparently.”

Juuse blushes at that. “You heard that, didn’t you?”

“I hear a lot of things, it is my house after all,” Pekka replies, somewhat enjoying Juuse’s squirming. It’s not like he’s heard anything _surprising,_ Juuse’s actually quite courteous. But Pekka’s also not an idiot, nor is he impotent. He gets it, he really does.

“Okay, wait, so...so what does this mean, for us?” Juuse asks.

“Do you want there to be an ‘us’?” Pekka counters.

Juuse looks down at the floor when he nods, his ears pinking with his blush. “I’ve wanted that for a long time,” he whispers, and Pekka goes over to him, gently gripping his chin and guiding him to look back up.

This is a colossally bad idea, for multiple reasons. But Hank’s words still stay with Pekka, and he gives in, just this once. He kisses Juuse once more, testing himself with the sweetness of the boy in his arms. Unlike in his nightmare, he wouldn’t be the cause of Juuse’s pain. Not anymore.

“So have I,” Pekka whispers. After that affirmation, Juuse throws his arms around Pekka’s shoulders, pulling him into another kiss. Pekka lifts him up to put him on the island, and Juuse wraps his legs around Pekka in response.

This is what he was missing.

* * *

With both secrets out in the open, things both change and don’t change with Juuse. There’s not a lot of space between them on the couch anymore, but Pekka still lets Juuse initiate. Juuse still sleeps in his own room, more by Pekka’s request than anything else. Pekka still cooks for Juuse, while Juuse attempts to lend assistance, but now Pekka knows he doesn’t have to pretend to eat. (Or worse, actually eat.)

They’ve kissed quite a bit since they’d come clean to each other, but Pekka always stopped it before it went too far. As much as he _wanted_ to give in to whatever Juuse was proposing when he sat in Pekka’s lap and made out with him until they were both hard, he couldn’t give in. The last vestiges of his nightmare still clung to him, always pulling him out of the moment like a bucket of ice water. It was much the same reason Pekka made Juuse sleep in his own room. He didn’t want to hurt him.

Not again.

Juuse continued to invite teammates over for video game filled afternoons, and Pekka continued to either be there if they needed something (i.e. all the food in his house) or leave, if they didn’t (i.e. use the time to go get himself something to eat.)

On one such afternoon, Pekka was about to leave to go to one of his usual spots to try and get something to drink when he heard a crash from the kitchen, followed by three different voices hissing or shouting in shock. When Pekka runs into see what happened, he sees Juuse holding his hand, a cut running down the center of his palm. It’s bleeding profusely, but Pekka knows it’s not too deep. He weaves into the middle, holding his breath as he guides Juuse to his feet. The knife’s still on the floor, and Pekka steps on the flat edge of the blade, dragging it with them to the sink. “Run that under cold water,” he instructs Juuse, who does so.

He still hasn’t spoken, and Pekka assumes it’s out of shock.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Freddie asks, and Pekka nods, leaning down to pick up the knife.

“He should be. We might have to take him to the hospital just to make sure it’s not infected or anything, but what the hell happened?”

No one says anything, but they don’t have to. When he leans down to pick up the knife, he sees blood on it still, along with a green mush. The halves of avocado on the counter tell the rest of the story.

“I told you I could buy pre-made guacamole,” Pekka mutters, dropping the knife into the sink. He still hasn’t really taken a breath since he’d first come in, and he moves out of the circle of concerned hockey players to try and get a clear breath of air.

He hears someone come up beside him, and he’s unsurprised to see it’s Miikka.

“Not too good with blood?” Miikka asks, slipping into Finnish.

Pekka quirks an eyebrow. “Today’s an off day,” he says through stiff lips, trying to hide his fangs. “If he needs to go to the hospital, wrap his hand in a kitchen towel and keep pressure on it until he gets there. And text me updates.”

“Why? Where’re you going?” Miikka challenges, crossing his arms.

Pekka growls, leaning down over Miikka, none too keen on childish challenges. Miikka takes a step back, eyes wide and hands up in a placating gesture.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Juuse snaps as he enters the foyer, his hand wrapped in a paper towel courtesy of a still kind of shaken Freddie. The warning in his voice wars with the sweetness of the endearment. Especially in Finnish, which makes Miikka’s jaw drop slightly in surprise, and leaves Freddie out of the loop.

It does something to Pekka, makes him want to apologize and care for and kiss and fuck this boy of his. It washes over him in a wave, and he almost takes a step towards Juuse, but the other goalie continues in English.

“I can use the antiseptic in the first-aid kit. I’ll be fine.” Juuse almost seems to be bargaining with him, and Pekka doesn’t quite know how he feels about that.

“Are you sure?”

“Go eat, Daddy.”

The directive coming from his sweet boy’s lips makes him give in immediately. It takes everything he has to not go over and kiss Juuse goodbye, however.

Once he’s out of the house, he gets into his car and backs out, hooking his phone to his bluetooth, just in case someone needed to get ahold of him. From there, it’s a fairly short drive to his usual spot. It’s strange to be there in the middle of the day, when anyone could recognize him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Juuse’s injury had only added urgency to an already stupid plan.

He parks in the small lot in front of the bookstore, and heads inside. As usual, Darcy’s behind the front desk, flipping through some kind of young adult novel. He’s got headphones in, but when Pekka closes the door behind him, he looks up.

Darcy doesn’t say anything - he never really does - but he does reach under the counter to procure an old fashioned looking key. He drops it in Pekka’s hand, and then turns back to his novel.

Pekka walks around the back of the counter, going to the locked door in the wall. He unlocks it and steps down into the stairs leading to the basement with only extremely low light. Closing the door behind him secures the darkness, but it only looks like dusk to Pekka.

It’s pretty much empty, as expected for this time of day, save for a few vampires lounging on the couches against the walls. Two on the loveseat were rather busy, and Pekka appropriately averts his gaze. He goes into his usual back corner, and it doesn’t take long before Damien comes over, pressing up against Pekka.

“And how’ve you been since you last came?” Damien purrs, sliding his hand down Pekka’s body.

The goalie grabs his wrist before he can go much further. “I’ve been fine. And I’ll pass on... _that,_ for now.”

Damien pouts, before he leans in closer to Pekka, scenting him quickly. “You still reek of that little human living with you.”

“He’s my…” And then Pekka pauses because, they hadn’t ever actually confirmed _what_ they were. Boyfriend was right, in a sense, but it didn’t exactly fit. Neither did partner, or mate.

“He’s your…?” Damien prompts, raising a black eyebrow.

Pekka cups Damien’s cheek and fixes him with a fairly stern look. “He’s mine. Now, have you eaten today?”

The shorter man rolls his eyes, and grabs Pekka’s hand, leading him over to an open bean bag chair. He pushes him down into it, before taking a seat on his lap. “Of course I have, I’m not stupid. Why do you always ask?”

“Admittedly,” Pekka begins, adjusting Damien in his lap so he’s moreso lying on top of Pekka, offering easier escape than if he was on the bottom, “it’s because you taste better when you’ve eaten recently. But also, because not everyone who utilizes the services here actually care enough to ask.”

Damien presses in close, resting his cheek on Pekka’s chest. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve eaten today. Now come on, you have a game in a few days, and I want you to do well.”

Pekka runs his fingers through Damien’s hair briefly, settling the nerves that always come before any feeding. Then he pulls him up a little bit, so they can see eye to eye, before he ducks his head and bites into Damien’s neck. The boy twitches slightly, but quickly stills, used to this part.

Pekka takes two strong pulls at first, establishing a steady suction to guide the blood to his mouth. His thumb gently rubs circles on the small of Damien’s back, a little friendly touch even while he’s being tasted. But even as he takes in Damien’s blood, something oddly citrusy, all he can think about is Juuse. If he had needed to go to the hospital, if he needed Pekka there for whatever reason, if he was _okay_?

And though this meant nothing, nothing but survival, he still felt like this was betraying Juuse in a way. Like he was _cheating_ on him.

The thought makes him pull back, even though he was only halfway fed. He licks at the bite on Damien’s neck, encouraging it to heal.

Damien chuckles, and it’s not humour based. “You’ve got it bad for your little man, don’t you?”

“I have for a while, Dame,” Pekka murmurs. “I just didn’t realize it until now.”

Damien hums, before sliding his hand into Pekka’s hair. “Finish feeding, and then we’ll talk about it.”

Pekka huffs, but gives into the hunger only partially sated within him. He bites down into the same place, reopening the partially closed skin. It only takes a few more minutes before he’s finally sated, and this time when he pulls off, it’s for good. As soon as he’s finished cleaning and closing the bite, Pekka lies back down on the bean bag chair, looking up at Damien.

“Now. About your boy. If you’re so worried about him, why are you coming here?”

“Because I had a dream I killed him and I don’t want him to think that that means I _want_ to.”

Damien sits up, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “In my admittedly very limited experience with love, you should just tell him the truth. Besides, if he smells like _that,_ he’s going to taste good.”

“That’s the _problem,_ ” Pekka replies, rubbing his temple with two fingers. “I’m not sure I have the restraint to.”

“Pekka. You just stopped mid-feed to talk about your feelings. You’re 300 years old. You play a professional sport where blood is a part of it. Tell me again how you don’t have the restraint to feed from him?”

Pekka falls silent at that, and Damien hops off his lap with a self congratulating smile.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all week. Now go on home and get your boy.”

Damien gives him a fanged smile before ushering him back up and out of the basement. Pekka surfaces, locks the door behind him, and offers the key back to Darcy. Darcy takes it, again without looking up from his book, and gives a half hearted goodbye wave.

Pekka doesn’t bother returning it, he knows Darcy won’t see. Once back in his car, he checks his phone again, and finds a missed text from Juuse.

_didnt need stitches, got a bandaid on it, should be fine. also we should talk_

It was sent about twenty minutes ago.

_Omw back now._

* * *

He comes home to Juuse sitting on the couch, a bowl of cereal on the coffee table in front of him. “I see you went with a safer utensil,” he quips as he comes into the living room.

Juuse looks up at him with a bit of a pout. “Not my fault that avocados are slippery.”

“You know they might start putting warning labels on them because so many people have that issue? Except some of them have their knife go _through_ their hand. So in that sense, you’re quite lucky.”

Juuse looks down at the bandage on his hand, flexing his fingers carefully. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Quiet falls over the two of them for a minute, and Pekka figures it’s his turn to lead the conversation. “When you said we needed to talk...did you mean about what happened with Miikka or you bleeding on my floor?” he begins softly. “Because if it’s the first, he caught me at a bad time and I reacted poorly. I’ll apologize tomorrow. And if it’s the second, that’s not your fault, you just need to be more careful. Or ask me to do it for you.”

“You _do_ bleed though, I’ve seen it,” Juuse replies, brows furrowed. “How would that help?”

“Because I’m not extremely attracted to my own blood,” Pekka replies, meeting Juuse’s gaze. Juuse looks back at him with wide eyes, and Pekka looks to the side. “You just...smell really good. And I thought that I’d gotten used to it by now, you’ve been living here for over a year, but just having you around is different than having you up close. That night in Winnipeg, that dream I had...it fucked me up a bit.”

Blue eyes meet, and Juuse twists his sweatpants in his fingers. “In what way?”

“The kind that I haven’t had dreams of in a while. I think it was because you were so close and after pulling myself away from...from that desire, I think my subconscious just took what it wanted. Took what I wanted and twisted it, really.”

Juuse slowly shifts closer to Pekka, pressing up close against him. “If you don’t want to tell me what happened, you don’t have to. But I do trust you. And if you could let me in...I’d like that.” He puts his undamaged hand on Pekka’s cheek, and Pekka leans into the touch.

This whole thing is dangerous, undoubtedly so, but he’s not going to let this one slip so easily from his fingers. Bad dreams aside, he can hold onto this one thing. He can let himself love Juuse, and let himself be loved in return.

He can, and he will.

“I’d like that too,” Pekka whispers, reaching down and gently taking Juuse’s damaged hand in his. He brings it up to his lips and presses a gentle kiss there. The blood doesn’t smell fresh anymore, but it’s still sweeter than anything else he’d been around. His teeth elongate slightly, but he remains in control.

Juuse brings that hand up to cup Pekka’s other cheek, giving the vampire a soft smile. “Then let’s do it.”

Pekka returns the smile.

They seal the deal with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> i do love putting salty henrik lundqvist into anything that i can tbh. please come yell about these two with me on [tumblr.]()


End file.
